“Not quite,” she said.

“Well, my old bones don’t take kindly to a chair overlong. Time for me to look in on Killdeer and Bucket. Don’t stay too long, or you’re apt to make mistakes.”

“All right,” she said. She watched the old warrior limp his way out of the records room. She realized she was alone, the weight of the dark weighing down on her from above.

Alone, but for the ghostly presences who watched.

WEAPONS

Karigan was not sure how long she had been working when she finally set the pen down and shook sand onto her paper. She’d copied a fair bit of the scroll with no real idea of what it said.

She sat back and rubbed the nape of her neck. The records room had remained quiet, funereal, really. She’d been so focused on the work that she’d lost track of time, hadn’t even heard the city bells. Maybe, when her brooch abandoned her, she could become a scribe. No, doing it occasionally was all right, but how she filled her whole day, every day? She’d go mad.

She stood and stretched, and hoped she had not missed supper. She extinguished the lamp on her table, but left the others burning for Dakrias’ return. She strode from the records room, only to discover two Weapons waiting in the corridor. What were they doing here?

“Rider,” said Brienne Quinn of the tombs, “you are to come with us.”

“Where?”

“No questions,” said Donal.

“What?” And before she knew it, he was blindfolding her. She could not rip it off for the Weapons gripped her arms on either side and started to drag her away. “What in the five hells are you—”

“Silence.” Donal’s deep voice resonated along stone walls, low and threatening. “You will remain silent.”

Or what? she wondered. She did not voice her questions, but plenty streamed through her mind. What in the hells was going on? Why the blindfold? Where were they taking her? Was there some sort of coup going on? Were the Weapons overthrowing the king? In desperation she struggled against their steely grips, but she was nothing against the two of them.

“Peace, Rider,” Brienne said. “It will go easier if you don’t struggle.”

“What are you? Traitors?” And she struggled even harder, kicking, trying to break their hold on her, but they gave no inch, and Donal—she thought it was Donal—twisted her arm behind her back and pinioned it hard enough that she gasped in pain and stopped fighting.

“One more word,” Donal said in his low, threatening voice, “and we shall gag you, as well. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“And, if you struggle, I will break your arm. Do you understand this, as well?”

She nodded again, wondering all over what in the hells was going on. Why were they doing this to her? She could only think nefarious thoughts, had not expected the Weapons to turn on their king.

Their footsteps rang through empty corridors. The records room, like the Rider wing, was located next to an abandoned section of the castle, and the lack of sound from others, and the hollowness she sensed around her, indicated they followed an unused corridor. She had traveled through the abandoned corridors before and preferred not to again, but it seemed she had little choice in the matter.

She thought to count their steps and remember the turnings, but she’d been so shocked she hadn’t done so from the beginning, and there were so many turns she could not have remembered them all, anyway.

Donal and Brienne led her steadily, and firmly, their pace never slackening. Being blindfolded made her feel like she was falling into a great, black pit, but the Weapons did not let her stumble, nor did they shove or drag her. They assisted her up and down short sets of stairs. There were enough of these that she could not say whether they gained or lost elevation, or remained at the same level they’d started from.

Her thoughts circled back to dark conspiracies and coups, but what had the Weapons to gain, and what did they want with her? Surely they didn’t consider her a serious threat.

She strained her senses to get an idea of what was around her, and so noticed a change in the sounds of their footsteps. It felt like the walls abruptly fell away. The air was different. They had left the corridor behind and must have entered a chamber. Abruptly, they halted.

“Stay,” Donal commanded.

“I am not a dog,” she snapped.

No one replied, and it took a moment for her to realize they no longer held her arms. She whipped the blindfold off and blinked at a solitary lamp aglow at her feet, and absently rubbed the arm Donal had pinned behind her back. The light was suppressed by the heaviness of dark in this vaulted chamber. She could not even see the walls around her, just the nearby support columns. Where was she? Where had the Weapons gone, and why had they left her here?

She was reaching for the lamp so she could use it to help her find her way out when she heard the rapid approach of footsteps. She turned to see a shadow running at her with a bared sword. She squawked and flung herself out of the way.

What in damnation?

The swordsman pivoted. All in black was he, his face covered by a mask. Black, but not a Weapon’s uniform.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

He answered her by stalking forward, light glancing on the sharpened edge of his longsword. She skittered behind a column just out of reach of the lamplight as the sword streaked after her. She called on her fading ability, but it wouldn’t work.

What the hells?

There was little time to consider it for the swordsman was after her again, and as she desperately dodged behind another column, the faint glow of something metallic a few yards away on the floor caught her eye. She could not make out its form for it was beyond the halo of light, but she sprinted and dove after it even as the swordsman pounded behind her.